


Pray All Ye Meet Are the Gentle Fae

by PatternsInThread



Series: Fae Jaskier [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Coming Untouched, Consensual Mind Control, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, M/M, Mistaken for Non-Con, Porn With Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternsInThread/pseuds/PatternsInThread
Summary: “It was remarkably foolish of you, witcher,” Jaskier drawled, his glamour gone and the picture of his inhumanity complete. “Stumbling into my clearing like this.”Or: Geralt and Jaskier take a night off to have some fun. Less fun? They're overheard.If only their dirty talk didn't sound so...incriminating.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Fae Jaskier [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924807
Comments: 91
Kudos: 448





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** This story is consensual non-consent. Geralt definitely wants everything that's happening, and that's made clear throughout, but they're pretending he doesn't. Expect all the warnings that go along with that, including threatening dirty talk. They're seen/heard by people who do think it's non-consensual and there's long-term mind manipulation going, and tell others including Eskel, but those people are wrong.
> 
> Title from "Samhain" by Alexander James Adams (released under the name Heather Alexander--he still has all his music from pre-transition licensed under Heather Alexander, I promise I'm not just deadnaming him, that's how he's chosen to keep it listed). OC names are Polish, place names are from a different Eastern European country for Reasons.

When they arrived in the town of Sevid, the contract Geralt had heard rumors of had already been handled.

“What do you _mean_ it’s already been handled?” Jaskier definitely did not whine, as soon as they were done talking to the barkeep. “It’s not like it’s raining Witchers in Kaedwen!”

Geralt snorted. “It’s early spring.”

“ _And_?” Jaskier asked, sliding into a corner table at the inn. Back to the crowd, of course, so Geralt could be comfortable and face it.

“And so we all just left the keep. In the _Kaedwen Moutains_.”

“Ah.” Jaskier huffed. “Well I suppose that makes sense, but it’s very rude of them, not sharing like contracts that.”

“Yeah,” Geralt said, cocking his head. “Not waiting before taking down a murderous griffin was _rude_.”

“Well when you put it like that…”

“Anyway, they’re only ahead of me because I detoured to meet up with you, so really.”

Jaskier gasped loudly, arms spread, the picture of offense. “Geralt! Why, are you implying that us missing the contract was _my_ fault?”

“No,” Geralt said, dry as a desert. “Never.”

“Well, witcher,” Jaskier said, not even pausing as he scooped his ale up from where the barmaid had said it, “we only missed the contract by a day, so I think you’re just _slow_.”

“Sure,” Geralt said. Jaskier was immediately suspicious at the capitulation.

“Thanks to the bard tagging along after me.”

Jaskier’s snort was loud, though his words were not. He was all too aware of the need to be discreet—about certain, specific subjects, anyway. “Please. You know you love me.”

Geralt’s face softened, and a soft, genuine, _precious_ smile came out. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good,” Jaskier declared, before taking a hearty swig of ale. “Now then. Looks like have a whole night off. No need to deal with any nasty griffins…”

Geralt smirked. “Whatever shall we do.”

\--

“I still think doing it in the woods is a bit much,” Geralt muttered as they crossed the border out of town.

“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier said breezily, “think of the _ambiance_!”

Geralt snorted. “ _Poet_.”

“And thank the gods for that! They know _someone_ has to bring the poetry to this relationship, and my dear, it _certainly_ will not be you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, glad the dark hid his smirk. No need to let Jaskier know for _sure_ that he was resorting to grunts to fuck with him.

“I _know_ you’re doing that to— _Oh_!” Jaskier gasped as he brushed the last few tree branches out of the way, revealing a moonlit clearing in full. It wasn’t large, but the full moon shone in from almost straight above, and birch and pine encircled the wildflowers and long, soft grasses.

It was, Geralt could admit, a beautiful sight. One made more mysterious by the night, but still perfectly visible to his and Jaskier’s inhuman eyes.

However. “It’s too close to town.”

“But _Geralt_ , it’s _perfect_!”

“If it were perfect,” Geralt said, dry, “it wouldn’t be too close to the town.”

“But it’s so _beautiful_ , Geralt, I _told_ you, the _ambiance_ ,” Jaskier said, turning to face Geralt and gesturing grandly. “Come now, even _you_ can’t deny this spot’s aesthetic pleasures!”

“Hmm.”

“Where better to set the scene?” Jaskier asked, his voice slowly drawing lower, smoother. “Where better to encounter a fae? Or rather,” Jaskier moved forward in a motion that could only be called _sauntering_ , “for a _fae_ to come upon _you_? To _enchant_ you?”

Geralt ignored the sudden, growing warmth in his veins. “It’s too much of a risk.”

“ _Please?_ It’s late, no one will be trampling around in the woods this time of night, not when they have the full moon to let them all stumble home from the tavern in safety.”

“Hmm.” It wasn’t…untrue. But the potential risk still left him wary.

Jaskier dropped some of his aggressive cheer. “Look, if you’re really worried, we can go somewhere else. Obviously.”

Geralt sighed. It _was_ an “aesthetically pleasing” clearing. And he didn’t really want to traipse through more of the forest with a hard on. “No, this is fine.”

Jaskier’s eyes brightened—literally. He’d begun to shed his human glamour. “ _Yes!_ ” he shouted, jumping a bit in place. “Just you wait and see, this spot is _perfect_ , I’m telling you, you won’t regret this.”

Geralt let the corner of his mouth tug up in a smirk. “Might regret it if you don’t get on with it.”

And Jaskier smirked in answer. “Well then, _Witcher_.” He sauntered forward again, shedding more of his glamour as he did. His ears grew long and pointed—far more so than an elf’s. His proportions became subtly inhuman, torso and fingers too long, as he gained an inch or two in height. His skin took on a faint blue cast around the edges.

“It was remarkably foolish of you,” Jaskier drawled, the picture of his inhumanity complete. “Stumbling into my clearing like this.”

Geralt grunted. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

“No,” Jaskier said, voice low. “But it’s mine all the same.”

“And I’ll leave you to it—” Geralt started.

Jaskier dropped the full force of the glamour on the witcher’s mind.

The world went warm. Soft. Out of focus.

Suddenly, the fae in front of him was the most beautiful thing Geralt had ever seen. Could possibly imagine.

That radiant face, those radiant, shining eyes, _consumed_ , drew Geralt in and in and in until he couldn’t imagine why he’d want to look away.

“There, now, witcher,” Jaskier said. It was the only sound in the universe. “Isn’t that better?”

Wasn’t it better? Of course it was. But better than what—? Geralt didn’t know, but he didn’t have to know, all he knew was that it was better, the fae had told him it was better—

“Answer me,” the fae purred, voice dark and warm. His hand pulled at Geralt’s chin, made Geralt stare straight into his eyes, as if he hadn’t been already.

When had Jaskier gotten so close?

He never wanted the fae to stop touching him.

“Yes,” Geralt said, because something in him knew that was the answer, even if he had to focus to remember the question.

“Good,” the fae said, purring again, blue, blue eyes atop a predatory smirk—

That smirk. It warmed something in him. Promised trouble, but _good_ trouble.

It was familiar. The memory made Geralt rouse just a little, a hundred good memories flicking in front of him—

But that wasn’t the point of the game, was it?

Jaskier’s face was mere inches from his. Jaskier had moved his long, callused fingers to stroke their way down Geralt’s jaw, up toward his lips—

Geralt dredged himself up enough to snarl. “Unhand me, _fae_. I have done you no wrong.”

Jaskier laughed, low and sultry. “Done me no wrong, have you? Well what do you call the disruption of my night then, witcher? Your footprints marring the verdant grass of my meadow, killing the delicate wildflowers?”

“Then let me apologize,” Geralt ground out. “And be on my way.”

“Oh, _witcher_. You will apologize. _On your knees_.”

And Geralt’s limbs betrayed him—his knees weakened, everything in him begging to fall to the ground.

But he had no intention of giving in so soon.

Sure, he could break free, or use his word...but why stop a good time?

His knees wanted to move? He’d let them. Jaskier was keeping him from leaving, but not rooting him in place. So, making sure to telegraph his plan, he threw himself forward, sweeping Jaskier’s legs as he grabbed the shoulders of the fae’s doublet and lowered him abruptly to the ground, slowing down at the last instant to give his lover a gentle landing.

Geralt landed on his knees and threw one over Jaskier in an instant, sitting low on the fae’s stomach. His thoughts were still hazed out, but he didn’t need his thoughts to fight.

“Well, well, well,” Jaskier said, his smirk back after the briefest moment of surprise. “Perhaps _I’ll_ be the one to do some apologizing.”

“You’ll do nothing but let me _leave_ ,” Geralt growled.

“But why would I,” Jaskier asked, circling his hips under Geralt’s clothed, half-hard cock, “when you’ve already gotten us nice and started?”

Geralt said nothing, just snarled, but as he started to pull away, Jaskier brought up a hand to tangle in his hair.

“You’re not going _anywhere_.”

And flooded Geralt’s mind.

His senses, already blurred around the edges, narrowed further—narrowed to Jaskier and his own body and nothing else.

He didn’t resist when Jaskier used the grip in his hair to pull him down, too caught in the haze of bliss.

It was like floating. Floating, and knowing everything was okay, because all he had to do was please Jaskier. Who so deserved to be pleased.

He eased back into his body to the feeling of Jaskier’s mouth on him, and pleasure thrummed through him at the mere sensation, at knowing he was pleasing Jaskier, Jaskier was taking his own pleasure—

Jaskier’s tongue prodded at his lips and Geralt opened them without conscious choice, unable to tell whether it was Jaskier’s control or his body’s own reflex. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was sucking gently on the fae’s tongue, groaning into his mouth as Jaskier’s fist pulled tighter on his hair and his hand slipped under the hem of Geralt’s loose, linen shirt.

He let time blur, enjoying the feeling of Jaskier’s lips on his, before struggling again. Jaskier’s glamour was a warm blanket over his mind, woven heavy and thick. Fighting against it was like pushing up into a hearth-warmed fur, but one that encircled everything.

It was a comfortable feeling, like late-night sex had bleary and on the edge of sleep. Pushing idly didn’t do anything but remind Geralt of his bonds, and he could feel Jaskier smile against his mouth as he enjoyed the dual sensations of Jaskier’s mouth on his lips and touch in his mind.

The hand under his shirt roamed up further, stroked across a lust-hardened nipple, and that was when Geralt gathered his strength and shoved against Jaskier’s thrall.

He jerked up in real life as he broke through in his mind, the world still muffled, but his body no longer made pliant.

Geralt rolled off Jaskier and into the grass and wildflowers of the meadow, kneeling in an instant and about to push himself to his feet—

“ _No_ ,” Jaskier ordered, and Geralt’s body froze.

“Mmm,” the fae hummed, rolling onto his side to face Geralt and putting his body on full display. “On your knees for me already, of your own free will.”

“Let me _go_.”

“Oh, witcher. Don’t you have anything _else_ you can say?”

Geralt glared. “It’s almost like I know what I want,” he ground out.

“Mmm, I’m not interested in what you want, though,” the fae said with a wave of his hand. “Just what I do. So you’re going to stay on your knees for me, like a good little witcher, and you’re going to suck my cock _so_ sweetly.”

Geralt’s mouth started to water.

“Never.”

Jaskier threw his head back and laughed. “Come now. Open your mouth for me like a good little witcher.”

Geralt didn’t.

Jaskier just smirked and raised himself back to his feet—putting on a show the whole while. “Oh, witcher,” Jaskier purred. “You won’t admit it yet, but you’re going to do _exactly_ as I say. You won’t have a choice.”

Geralt _growled_ in response. But inside his mind, he could feel the haze strengthening, could feel himself being pressed down under the layers of Jaskier’s thrall. The world fell further away.

Jaskier’s eyes flared brighter as he licked his lips. And unbuttoned his trousers.

“Yes, yes,” he said, sauntering over to where Geralt had thrown himself, pulling his cock out of his smallclothes as he moved. It was plump and flushed and completely hard. “I know, you’re a mighty witcher, one who’d _never_ fall before a monster like me.”

Geralt was aware, through the haze in his mind, that he didn’t usually like being talked down to. And _yet_.

“Never become my _toy_ ,” Jaskier said, looking down on Geralt, his eyes so bright they cast a glow. “My puppet, my _plaything_. To use however I like, and to put away and keep for later.”

Jaskier’s warm, hard cock was inches from his face.

“I’ll never—” Geralt started.

“You’ll never what? Let me?” Jaskier laughed, dark and malicious. “You say that like you’ll remember this in the morning.”

A shudder swept through Geralt, strong enough to move him even under Jaskier’s thrall. Jaskier would never. But he _could_.

He could take Geralt and _remake_ him. Get himself a pet witcher. Bend Geralt to his every whim.

And make Geralt love it.

A moan slipped out without his conscious approval—but it was hard to think why he would ever not approve. Jaskier would want to hear him, he knew that. He was pleasing Jaskier.

And as his mouth slipped open, Jaskier moved, inhumanly quick, and caught Geralt’s jaw in his hands. Trapped it, pulled it open—

And stuck his cock in Geralt’s mouth.

He would be sucking even without the sudden pressure in his mind. Sure, the game was to resist, but Jaskier’s length rested so perfectly on his tongue. His own want was so strong, he could only untangle the suggestion that Jaskier had wound through him through long experience.

And then Jaskier shoved the rest of the way in, and Geralt let himself float in the ever-thickening glamour, his mouth moving practically on its own—half sense-memory, half Jaskier’s silent command.

The world narrowed further, to his tongue and his lips and Jaskier’s cock, sliding between them.

It was velvet passing through his lips, precome bitter on his tongue.

It was everything. _Jaskier_ was everything.

Time faded to nothing as Jaskier fucked into his mouth. There was only warm, wet heat, the tug of fingers in his hair, the brush of a hand cupping his jaw. Purrs of endearment, or threat—he was a creature of touch, too far gone to tell.

All he could tell was when Jaskier began to speed up, when hands jerked in his hair and the cock between his lips twitched, throbbed, went faster, faster, faster—

He swallowed down the liquid, warm and bitter and pouring down his throat.

There was noise, in the aftermath. It was coming from far away, pleasantly hazed out just like everything else.

Then something shifted, and he couldn’t _not_ hear it.

“ _There_ you are,” the voice was saying. “Now, wasn’t that lovely? Just like I said it would be?”

It _was_.

“Of course it was,” the voice hummed. “Must’ve been, for you to let yourself slip under so fully. I could feel it, you know—the way you didn’t even _try_ to come up, not once.”

The voice was low and slow and _pleased_. A wave of warmth passed through him.

A huff. “You’re so lovely like this, you know.” A hand ghosting along his face. “So open. So _relaxed_ , even with that mountain between your legs, _aching_ and _untouched_.”

There was something, he realized as the voice said so. Aching and _burning_. It wanted, _he_ wanted—

The voice changed in tone. “Well—not for long.”

Not for long? Good—he didn’t know how much longer he could stand it, not unless the voice told him to, he could if the voice told him to, but he _needed_ —

“Geralt. _Come_.”

The burn grew impossibly further, tearing through him, pleasure sparking through every limb, every nerve, every single part of him. There was nothing but ecstasy left in him as the heat built, crested—

And broke over him.

He _trembled_ from the strength of it as hands stroked through his hair and pleasure wracked his body.

It felt like it went on forever.

But it didn’t. It faded out slowly, so gently, as something in him drifted up—

Geralt blinked, long and slow. He’d fallen back, at some point. He grass was soft under him, its coolness a wonderful counterpoint to the sweat on his skin.

Jaskier was leaning over him. His eyes still glowed, his features remained inhuman, and he was looking down at Geralt with a soft adoration.

Geralt hummed softly.

“There you are,” Jaskier said, a fanged smile breaking across his face.

“Here I am,” Geralt agreed, his voice even deeper than usual, loose and gravely from pleasure.

“That was quite lovely.” Long fingers drifted down to play with the collar of Geralt’s shirt. “You know, if I do say so myself.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said softly. “Agreed.”

\--

_Not long before…_

The four young men in the woods turned tail and ran. Barely drunk and high on adrenalin, they made the trip to the village quickly. And quietly, having known the woods since their boyhood games.

They’d only gone into the woods on a dare. Old Man Zajac had seen the mutant head out there in the middle of the night, and they’d wanted to see what he was up to. Secret witcher rituals? Communing with beasts? _Acting_ like a beast?

Casimir and _his_ friends had dared them to, and well, they could hardly say no to that. Especially not when there was a chance of something to liven up their small, staid farming village.

They’d been looking for excitement. Scandal. Witcher secrets.

Not what they’d stumbled into.

They ran away as fast as they could, sucking in breath through their teeth as they tried their hardest not to be noticed.

They raced to get away before the monster sent the witcher after them.

\--

The alderman of Sevid had many, many things he did not like, and very few things he did, but he was competent at administration and scrupulously fair, so the villagers all accepted his lead well enough.

Witchers were one of the things he didn’t like.

But he liked monsters even less.

“You better be sure, boy,” he said, glaring down at Antoni, the forcibly and unhappily elected spokesman for their group.

“I am,” Antoni said, gulping. “It was the bard. His eyes were _glowing_. He was ordering the witcher to—degrade himself. Mocking the witcher for not being able to resist. Calling him a puppet and a toy.”

“The witcher did everything he said,” Jakub cut in. “ _Everything_.”

“We barely escaped with our lives!” Eryk added.

“If you’re lying to me,” the alderman said slowly, “and we act on this, we will all face the consequences. You realize that, correct? And whatever they will be, they will _not_ be pleasant.”

“Respectfully, sir,” Marus replied, straightened his back. It was the first time he’d spoken, but his voice was sure and even. “If we _don’t_ act on it, the consequences could be far worse. For us, or for whatever village the monster sets the mutant upon first. Any witcher would be bad enough. But this is the Butcher of Blaviken. Imagine what they could wreak.”

The alderman sighed. He didn’t like witchers. He didn’t like monsters. And he also didn’t like cowards.

“The best two horseman of you boys,” he said after a long moment. “Get your horses and run after the other witcher. He left for Trogir yesterday. Catch him, explain, and bring him here.”

“Yes sir,” they all said, before turning to silently bicker over who was the fastest.

“ _Go!_ ” the alderman snapped.

Antoni and Marus broke off and went.

\--

Eskel was nursing an ale in a dark corner of the bar—his customary choice, and one that left his back to no one—when two young men threw themselves through the doorway at full and reckless speed.

…Decent odds it would end up being a contract.

“The witcher!” one of them shouted in the general direction of the bar. “Where’s the witcher?”

Make that _more_ than decent odds.

The barkeep nodded at Eskel’s corner, and the young men—boys, maybe, human ages were so hard to tell apart—startled and paled.

Clearly they’d hoped for a less immediate answer, Eskel thought, wry.

But interestingly, they didn’t let that stop them more than a second.

“You were looking for me?” Eskel asked. Politely—no reason to put them more on guard, especially when they might have a job.

“There’s another witcher,” one of them, the dark-haired one, gasped. “Entered our town the day after you left.”

Eskel raised his eyebrows half in acknowledgement, half in surprise. Sure, it was early in the season, and he and the other wolves were all still making their way through Kaedwen, but still. It was rare, to run into each other on the Path.

Eskel opened his mouth to ask why, then, they would come for _him_ —

“There’s a monster! It’s taken him over!” the other boy rushed out.

“…Pardon?”

Oh, there were endless villagers who thought that witchers _were_ monsters, or near enough. But this was the first time he’d been told about a monster taking over another witcher.

…By a human, anyway. There were monsters that could possess a witcher, specters like hyms. Humans just usually didn’t care enough to notice. And the few monsters that used a witcher to kill others, instead of murdering more directly? All easily blamed on witchers going berserk.

“I swear it’s true!” the second boy shouted. “We saw it with our own eyes! It took him over, made him do everything it said. Made him— made him do things too awful to say in public.”

“…You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

The two looked at each other, then around the room, awkward and assessing. After a moment, and with a pronounced grimace, the first one leaned over the table. Probably as close to Eskel as he could bear.

“We were out in the woods,” the young man said, “when we found a clearing. The witcher was in it with some kind of beast. It had made itself look human, come into town with him. But its eyes were glowing, and completely blue, no whites, no nothing. And the beast… It. It made the witcher do…awful things.”

The second boy leaned in too, half-irritated and tripping over his words in his eagerness to say, “It made the witcher suck its cock.”

Eskel didn’t know what to say to that.

Fuck. If it was true…

“It was saying all sorts of shit,” the boy continued, “awful, vile shit, about how the witcher was made to be its toy, couldn’t escape it, wouldn’t even remember in the morning. The witcher resisted, and the thing just laughed and made the witcher go right on sucking.”

That wasn’t the vague, second-hand bullshit humans so often gave when talking about monsters. And these humans, voices hushed, looking over their shoulders…they were clearly scared.

Fuck.

It was barely even into the season, how the fuck could something like that have happened so fast—

“Which one?” Eskel asked, voice hoarser than he meant it to be.

“Erm.” The boys looked at each other awkwardly. “Which what?”

With a grimace, Eskel made himself ask, “Which witcher.”

“Oh, right,” the first one said, drawing himself up. “Geralt of Rivia.”

 _Fuck_.

\--

Eskel wanted to punch something. No, to stab something, to rip it to shreds and wipe it from the face of the earth.

But all he could do was make for Sevid as fast as possible. He’d wrung more information out of the two boys, but hadn’t wanted to travel at their pace for the sake of intel. It had been one measly piece of good news in a giant pile of shit, that there were more witnesses back at the town.

Scorpion was a fast horse—the ground flew under them.

If there was even a hint of truth to the boys’ words, it wasn’t enough.

For once, Eskel’s finely honed sense of human bullshit wasn’t picking up on anything.

He focused on the jolts of the road under Scorpion’s hooves. The light of the full moon on the worn dirt path.

If he was going to help Geralt, he needed to stay focused. Needed to plan.

So he would. There was no other option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, there will be more sex ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN
> 
> Thanks to HeavensCrack and novoid for betaing/giving feedback! And thanks to the Bards of Geraskier server for be enabling and doing a lot of sprints today, which is entirely why you have this chapter now and not in like 1-2 weeks
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings: uhhh none that aren't covered by the tags, I think?? Some violence? But let me know if I missed something!
> 
> On a more serious note, if you celebrate Thanksgiving or Christmas or any other major winter holidays, _please_ do not travel unless you absolutely have to. I'm not seeing my family at all this winter because I'd have to travel (even by car). And it absolutely sucks, but doctors and nurses are literally begging people to stay home and not travel, given how much worse the pandemic is getting. Please, please listen to them, and please be safe

Even pushing Scorpion as hard as he could, it took Eskel too long to get reach his destination. Any time was too long, after the words he’d pried out of the boys, but worse, they had taken over two hours to reach him.

Scorpion was a fantastic horse, well-trained and strong. But even he could only canter at top speed for so long.

By the height of the moon, it had taken Eskel a little under an hour to reach the village.

Far, far too long.

The farm boys had told him to go to the first house he came to on the road—that the alderman would be waiting there for him, to avoid risking detection by the _monsters_.

Never mind that there was only one monster present.

But there was no point in arguing. Nothing to do but pull Scorpion over to the house as quietly as possible. Some villager had left a small oil lamp in the window to mark the building—just another demonstration of how little they knew about witchers.

He knocked, because he didn’t need to hear the villagers’ heartbeats to know they were jumpy.

The alderman was the one who opened the door—Eskel had seen him only the day before. The man hadn’t stiffed him on payment for the griffin, which was more than could be said for most.

The man nodded. “Get in. It’s been too long already.”

Eskel just inclined his head. Maybe a bit sharply. “I was told there were other witnesses here who’d have more information for me?”

“Yes. Eryk and Jakub, here, witnessed the monster as well.”

“Right. And where is the witcher now?”

“The innkeeper saw the beast leading him up to their room. They rented, before we knew. Didn’t seem wise to object, after.”

“You made the right decision,” Eskel said. He’d need every advantage he could get—surprise included.

“It’s good that you called for me,” he continued solemnly. “I’ll handle it immediately—as soon as I have all the information your village does.”

“Of course, witcher.”

\--

“Witcher!” A voice shouted—Geralt woke up with a jolt. “Witcher!” the call came again, frantic, over the thundering of feet on the stairs.

 _Gods_. Geralt grunted as he dragged himself upright, nudging Jaskier awake as he cast about for his trousers. Couldn’t even have one night to themselves.

“Witcher!” Another voice shouted. Fists pounded on the door. “Wake up—it’s an emergency!”

“Coming,” Geralt called as he tugged the trousers on under the linen shirt he slept in. His voice was still low and wrecked from Jaskier’s cock.

“Come _now_ ,” the first voice yelled—a woman. “It’s my son—he’s been taken!”

 _Fuck_. So much for the town not having another contract.

Geralt opened the door a second later, just as Jaskier was blearily dragging himself upright on the bed.

“What happened?” Geralt asked, modulating his voice as best he could. No need to scare a mother already reeking of fear.

“A griffin!” she said. “The other witcher said he took care of it, but my son—it’s all my fault, I let him play out late with his friends, and it—it dove down and snatched him, right before my eyes. Please, witcher—he’s not yet thirteen—”

“Of course I’ll help,” Geralt said, gently as he could while still breaking through the wall of her speech. “Show me where he was taken.”

“Thank you, witcher, thank you,” the man with her said—the father, from how much their scents had mingled.

“It’s no problem,” Geralt grunted, stepping toward the door.

“Of course not! No mere griffin could challenge Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia!”

Geralt turned to where Jaskier was standing, mostly dressed and arms splayed wide, in clothing he _definitely_ hadn’t had time to put on.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. “You’re coming, then?”

“Or else miss your triumphant battle against the griffin? Never! Of _course_ I'm coming. Why, the boy’s rescue will make _such_ a magnificent ballad—”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted, his eyes on the boy’s parents, who’d grown more uncomfortable with the bard’s every word.

“Hmm? Oh— right, yes, sorry, it’s a tragedy.”

“Are you—” the woman swallowed. “Are you saying my boy is— Might he still be alive?”

“Yes,” Geralt said firmly, before Jaskier could speak. “It’s likely that the last griffin was killed, and this is its mate, lashing out and looking for revenge.” For one thing, his brothers would never accept payment for a job unfinished, much less leave town with it.

The man gasped, choked and tight.

“But it likely won’t kill your boy immediately,” Geralt said, aiming for reassuring and hopefully hitting it. “It’s distracted by grief—we have a day or so, in all likelihood.”

“But—but you’re going to look _now_ , right, witcher? Not leave it to— Not leave it?”

Geralt nodded. “I said I would.” No use being offended by the doubts of terrified parents. “Now show me where he was taken.”

\--

The couple led them to a field about halfway between the town’s center and its edge. The scents of numerous children were immediately apparent—some fresh, some faded. The long grass bore the regular trampling and abandoned sticks of a favored playground. There smell of fear was clear, but mostly just the mother's. That suggested a quick attack

And the field smelled of griffin—the scent concentrated in the corner farthest away from the center of town. Moving over to inspect the area quickly revealed two fallen feathers, half-hidden by the grass. It had gone for a straggler, however momentary of one—as was a griffin’s habit.

It had flown away lower than expected, from the strength of the scents of the griffin and the boy as they drifted down. But that just made it easier for Geralt to track them. Whether that would be the case once he’d followed the trail through the farmland and into the surrounding forest, however… And if he was actively tracking, he’d be moving slowly enough that the griffin would have ample warning.

Geralt grunted. “Jaskier, with me.”

Jaskier perked up so much that he practically bounced. If he didn’t reign himself in, the villagers were going to start getting cantankerous about their missing boy. “ _Really_? Oh, the sights I will see—”

A human could never keep up with a witcher, especially one tracking prey over rough terrain. And Jaskier wouldn’t be able to keep up either, fae though he was. If they weren’t chasing a flying monster, Geralt would never choose to bring him.

But Geralt couldn’t risk losing the trail, not with the boy’s life in the balance, and Jaskier’s magic might just be able to give him an edge.

At least it had become easier to stomach bringing the bard into danger since Geralt had found out just what his companion was.

“Are—” the mother cut in nervously. “Are you sure? I mean, what’s a bard going to do, besides slow you down? That’s my boy’s _life_ , it has—”

Geralt didn’t let himself growl. Growling would be rude. On the surface, it was a good question. “Trust that I have my reasons.”

Then he followed the scents to the edge of town, Jaskier at his heels.

They reached the surrounding farmland quickly. “Hide our scents,” Geralt said as they crossed the border into a field of fresh, green barley. They crept along a path between the tall-grown crops to avoid offending the farmers out of paying him.

And, of course, get out of earshot of the villagers.

“Aye, aye, sir!” Jaskier said, throwing off a jaunty salute as his glamour enveloped them and set Geralt’s medallion vibrating.

“And hide us from sight as well—as strongly as you can.”

“Ooh, that _will_ be quite the advantage,” Jaskier said, gesturing grandly. “Why, really, Geralt, you should bring me along more often.”

“Hush!”

“Ah—should I cover sound too?”

“Hmm. No need. Griffin hearing is relatively weak—they rely on sight and scent to track pray. Focus your energy on keeping us hidden on those fronts completely.”

Jaskier scoffed. “As if I would be so easily drained! Really, Geralt—”

“I need to focus,” Geralt interrupted. They were nearing the tree line, the griffin having flown in almost a straight shot toward it. And still oddly low, its scent easily drifting down.

In the woods, it would be harder to track and harder to fight. It made him gladder for the advantage the bard’s magic would supply, even as it made him more uneasy about the bard’s presence.

Fae magic was highly specialized, mostly in the ability to influence the mind—whether through illusions, or through more…direct measures. Although Jaskier couldn’t help Geralt track their quarry directly, his abilities could still easily be what would save the boy’s life.

Jaskier’s magic was strong even among the fae, Geralt had quickly realized. And his control was extremely refined—although Geralt could see and smell himself and Jaskier perfectly, he knew full well that no one else would be able to.

If he was really lucky, Jaskier would be able to sneak the boy right out from under the griffin’s nose.

But he was rarely that lucky. And the woods loomed just in front of him, dark and menacing.

Geralt didn’t pause as he downed a vial of Cat. He didn’t pause to be thankful that Jaskier’s vision was enhanced as well, or to stamp out any errant whisper of trepidation. He just stepped into the shade of the branches.

The thick leaves of the trees would keep the scent from drifting down so well—here was where he’d truly have to focus. He moved forward carefully, Jaskier a mere step behind him. Sure enough, they were barely twenty paces into the forest when the scent started to fade, and only fifty when Geralt lost the trail.

Geralt focused in harder, nose to the air like a bloodhound, as high as it could go—to find the slightest hint, any hint, that would let him keep going—

Light erupted. Pain shocked through Geralt’s body. He was blind, Cat-sensitive eyes struggling to adjust, even as the pain disoriented him.

He tried to stumble back, toward Jaskier, toward safety—

Only he couldn’t move. His eyes cleared enough to see a purple glow as he heard Jaskier crashing back behind him—crashing backward. That was something, at least.

But not very much.

Because Geralt knew full well when he was trapped by Yrden.

\--

“What the fuck—?” Jaskier shrieked—yes, he was fully capable of admitting it was a shriek—as purple light sprung up out of _nowhere_ to strike Geralt.

And pin him in place.

“What the fuck?” he repeated, jumping backward inelegantly. “This was supposed to be a griffin, _that was not_ _done by a griffin_ —!”

“No. It wasn’t.” The voice came from the darkness, unfamiliar and deep.

Only a quick gleam of light let him duck out of the way in time—to avoid a sword, _fuck_.

More like _how_ the fuck, he and Geralt were still _invisible_!

“I don’t suppose we could work this out?” Jaskier shouted as he scuttled back, thanking the gods he was faster than a human—

And that’s when his attacker stepped out and into the moon’s faint light.

“No,” the _witcher_ said, prowling forward. The full moon cast his twisted visage in stark relief, highlighting the scars that gouged through his face and lips, accentuating his sneer.

“Not after what you did,” the witcher snarled, eyes gleaming with hate, burning in the dark.

And then the witcher _moved_.

Jaskier frantically threw up two illusions of himself as he stumbled back from the witcher’s lunge, each illusion mirroring his movements as they dodged off to a separate side.

But the witcher struck again, targeting Jaskier’s true form with unnerving accuracy. Jaskier lost his grip on the illusions as he _barely_ twisted away.

“ _Eskel_!” Geralt shouted. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

“Protecting _you_ , dammit,” the witcher apparently named Eskel growled.

Jaskier cursed as he backed up further—how the fuck had Eskel _known_ , witcher senses were good but he’d blocked—

 _Fuck_. Jaskier’s power rose up to choke off all the sound around him, and thank the fucking gods, it made the witcher pause. The man’s eyes scoured the area in front of him as Jaskier _very slowly_ backed off to the side, eyes fixed on the witcher’s raised sword.

“Trapping me is protection, now?” Geralt shouted back, still struggling against the magical restraint. “Stop attacking my bard and let me _out_.”

“Yeah!” Jaskier couldn’t resist calling out, although he at least had the presence of mind to make it sound as if his voice was coming from all directions. “Stop attacking his bard and let him out!”

Eskel _snarled_ , louder than before, and infinitely more animalistic. “I know you’re not the bard.”

“… _What_?” Jaskier asked.

His thoughts tripped over themselves trying to figure out what that meant. “Of course I’m his bard!” Possessive very much included.

“Well I suppose you could be _the_ bard,” the witcher said. “But you’re not _his_ anything. And there are _very_ few fae with the patience for that long of a game.”

Jaskier swallowed.

_Oh, shit._

“Fuck,” he heard Geralt grumble. Then, louder: “He’s not playing a _game_ , Eskel, now back the _fuck_ off.”

Eskel’s eyes didn’t stray from the area where Jaskier very much wished he was _not_. “I can’t do that, Geralt,” he said as he scoured the woods for any sign of Jaskier.

There was nothing. Jaskier had made sure there was _nothing_.

But Eskel stepped forward slowly, sword glinting, eyes narrowed. A predator closing in—

Light flashed again, far too bright—Jaskier squinted into the hole in his vision, blinking quick as he could—

The bright phantoms in his vision cleared as the bright flash faded, leaving only a purple glow.

One that surrounded Eskel in tight, vertical lines.

A _furious_ Eskel. Jaskier’s body froze, the protection of his illusions be damned.

“I had hoped,” the witcher said, teeth gritted, as he turned to Geralt, “that it hadn’t got this far.”

“Nothing’s gotten anywhere, dammit,” Geralt said, limbs straining against the confines of the trap. “I _know_ he’s a fae, Eskel, he’s not manipulating me.”

“I very much wish I could believe you, Geralt, but we both know I can’t.” As he finished, the purple light that surrounded and trapped him flared, brighter and brighter, as it seemed to swell, growing larger and—

It burst into shards of light. Ones that fell to the ground and faded as the witcher stepped forward.

Jaskier squawked, barely managing to keep his illusions battened down.

“Geralt?” he called, making damn sure to magically throw his voice. “Any chance you might _also_ break out of that trap and come _help me_?”

“ _Trying_ ,” Geralt growled, but Eskel was talking over him—

“You speak to him one more time, I’ll make sure you never talk again.”

“Like that wasn’t already your plan?” Jaskier asked incredulously.

But you know what? Fuck that shit to godsdamned hell. He was _not_ getting murdered by some random witcher. And besides, the witcher already knew he was a fae.

So Jaskier took a slow, focusing breath, grabbed as much of his power as he could—

And threw it right into Eskel’s mind.

The witcher’s steps stuttered at the metaphysical impact. His knees weakened. But Jaskier didn’t let up. Kept pouring more power into the connection, dropped his illusions to fuel the enthrallment.

The witcher’s eyes narrowed when Jaskier became visible again, far too alert—

But that was okay. Jaskier had time; that the witcher had been halted. Standing there, staying put—the man’s muscles might have been twitching and clenching as he tried to free himself, but his stillness was all the sign Jaskier needed to know that the witcher was under his power.

And with that time, Jaskier eased up on his desperate shoving of power, slowed it down so he could weave it on its way out, braid it into a net so tightly woven that it became a blanket, a rope so thickly woven that the witcher could never break it.

Eskel’s eyes blinked, just a hair too slow. They started to unfocus, hazing out more and more as Jaskier anchored his enchantments to the substance of the witcher’s mind. The traps of the fae were devious: Wherever they anchored, the strands of the glamour gave off wave after wave of powerful, heavy peace.

Eskel’s sword dropped. Just an inch.

Geralt was in the background—fully visible again, still straining. But this time it looked like he might be succeeding. The purple light trapping him flexed and flared the way it had before Eskel had broken free.

“It’s all okay, you know,” Jaskier murmured, staring straight into Eskel’s golden eyes. The witcher’s mind was moving too much in his grasp, but those shifts were starting to slow. “It’s all okay, it’s all going to _be_ okay. You can just relax and calm down.”

Jaskier couldn’t enthrall the White Wolf, the strongest of the witchers. Not if Geralt wanted to fight him.

But Eskel wasn’t the White Wolf.

Eskel’s sword lowered another inch.

“That’s it,” Jaskier said, spinning thicker and thicker threads of glamour in soothing patterns around Eskel’s brain. Covering and quieting his conscious mind. “You can just lower your sword, because everything’s alright. No one’s gonna hurt you. Everything’s okay. You can just relax and let go.”

Eskel’s eyelids started to drift downward. And behind him, the magic keeping Geralt trapped flared, burst, and shattered.

Jaskier could see Geralt nodding at him in the background, but couldn’t risk looking away, not when Eskel’s mind was fighting under him, Jaskier having to weave peace over alarmed thought after alarmed thought, hurrying to quiet them before they could set off too much of a cascade.

Jaskier could barely spare a moment to thank the Triple Goddess that _this_ wasn’t how Geralt had discovered what he was.

But he needed to focus. To keep slowly gentling Eskel, bringing him the rest of the way under.

“Good, Eskel,” Jaskier said, voice low and melodic. “Very, very good. That’s it, keep relaxing. You can trust me. Nothing bad happened here. I haven’t done anything. Not to you. And I haven’t done anything to Geralt, either. So it’s perfectly fine if we all—”

At Geralt’s name, Eskel’s eyes flashed and widened. His mind started writhing under Jaskier’s grip, magic sparking through his form and thoughts in a way that Jaskier had never felt Geralt come _close_ to managing.

Then Eskel’s sword jerked back up, and the man slashed out at Jaskier.

And Jaskier didn’t quite dodge in time.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed—the cut was shallow, he’d _almost_ gotten out of the way, but he could feel his blood welling up along the line of the slash.

“ _Haven’t done anything,_ ” Esel growled, low and mocking, as he stepped forward. “How _dare_ you. You may have brought my brother under your thrall, you may have brutalized him, but you are _finished_.”

He raised his sword straight in the air, inches from Jaskier’s throat.

Jaskier held back the urge to hiss, prepared to dump all his power into whatever tricks would let him survive this—

Eskel went down in a surge of white.

“Don’t _you_ dare,” Geralt growled, grappling Eskel to the forest floor. The brown-haired witcher shook his head as he struggled back, but Jaskier could tell the edges of the glamour were still clinging to him. Could feel the threads, torn but still sticking to the edges of Eskel’s mind.

Reweaving them would be hard with Eskel furious and braced for the glamour, but he had to try—especially since this was Geralt’s _brother_ , oh _fuck_ —

“ _Godsdamit_ , Geralt, he’s been _raping_ _you_.”

Jaskier froze.

And Geralt faltered—just for a second, but long enough for Eskel to flip them, pinning Geralt at the wrists and waist.

“I’m trying to protect you,” Eskel said, voice low and livid, “because this _monster_ has been _raping you in the night_ —”

“I would _never_!” The words ripped their way out of Jaskier’s throat.

“—and erasing your memory of it in the morning—”

“Jaskier would _never_. Just because he’s _fae_ doesn’t mean he’s a _monster_ —”

“—the villagers sent for me because they _caught him in the act_ , Geralt—”

Then Jaskier froze in a different way. Oh _fuck_ , how terribly fucking _awkward_.

“Umm,” Jaskier started, “I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“You, _fae_ ,” Eskel snapped. “Shut up.”

But Geralt had frozen too, no longer trying to fight his way free of Eskel’s grasp. His face was bright red.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, but it was the most choked off grunt Jaskier had ever heard. It probably didn’t even qualify as a grunt. More of an _urk_.

“So will you _listen_ to me,” Eskel said, pressing through the sudden silence, “I am trying to _help_ you, because this thing has been _hurting_ you—”

Geralt cleared his throat. “He, uh. Wasn’t hurting me.”

“Godsdammit, Geralt, there were _multiple witnesses_.”

 _Aggghhhhh_ , they should’ve gone further into the forest. How could the aesthetics have _betrayed_ him like this? Him, a bard? He was all _about_ aesthetics.

Geralt, somehow, flushed even redder. He muttered something just below Jaskier’s hearing, the words bitten off as the man stared resolutely past Eskel’s face.

Eskel paused. “Excuse me?”

“I _said_ ,” Geralt growled, “that I am _fully aware_ of what he said last night.”

“…And what he made you do?”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed into a glare. He gave a vaguely affirmative grunt.

 _Typical_.

“In my defense,” Jaskier offered, “it was his idea.”

Eskel turned and shot him a _withering_ glare. “You _better_ mean that literally, fae, because I swear to the gods, if you’re blaming him for—”

“I asked him to thrall me into fucking him!” Geralt snapped.

Eskel’s gaze whipped back to Geralt.

“It was my godsdamned idea, so lay the fuck off, Eskel,” Geralt said. “It was just sex.”

“...Sorry, but I’m gonna have trouble taking your word for that, Geralt. Given all of the witnesses. And the fact that he just tried to enthrall me and force me to lower my blade.” But Eskel’s tone had gentled. Gone contemplative

Geralt dropped his head back the two inches he could manage. It hit the ground with a quiet _thud_.

Jaskier was about to say something else, because of course Geralt had clammed up _again_ , but then Eskel narrowed his eyes and said, “What?”

While looking at Geralt.

Huh.

“…Ugh.” Geralt grunted. In the dim moonlight, Jaskier could just make out Eskel’s eyebrow raising. The one that wasn’t split by enormous scars. “ _Fine_. You know how we used to talk about Axii sex?”

That was when _Jaskier’s_ eyebrows shot up. Hmm. What a _delightful_ thought.

Eskel, on the other hand, groaned. “You mean when you kept bringing it up whenever we got drunk?”

Geralt just grunted.

“Ugh,” Eskel groaned again. Then he hung his head. “Fine. Yeah, that tracks.”

“Great,” Geralt said. His did not look like he thought anything was particularly great. “Now will you let me up?”

Eskel sighed and relaxed his grip. “The fae cuts off all his magic,” he said. “My medallion stops vibrating, and you’re still grunting the same tune? Then yeah, I let you up.”

“Oh thank the _gods_ ,” Jaskier exhaled. Then, seeing their stares. “ _What?_ ”

Geralt grunted again. It was a dubious grunt.

“Bah, whatever,” Jaskier said. “He came at me with a sword. He _stabbed_ me with a sword! I am _bleeding_ all through my chemise! I’m allowed to be glad he’s willing to not keep _stabbing me_ with his _godsdamned sword_.”

“More like I’m stabbing you with my sword,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier cackled as Eskel looked like he was regretting his life choices.

“Well then, witcher, as you wish,” Jaskier said, pulling all of his power back into himself as he threw his hands out in an elaborate bow.

The medallions did not stop vibrating.

“Umm…” Jaskier started.

But Eskel cut him off with a sigh. “No, wait, that’s me.” He raised a hand to flick it, and a near carpet of purple lights flared up and then faded out.

“Yeah,” Geralt said, wry. “That wasn’t excessive at _all_.”

Eskel snorted as the vibrations of their medallions slowed to a final halt. “Had to make sure I caught someone,” he said, the tension starting to seep out of his limbs. “No point in having a ton of extra magic if you can’t spam Yrden.”

Jaskier gasped. “Holy shit, _that’s_ how you broke through my control. And Geralt’s trap, too! Un _fair_!”

Eskel’s eyes narrowed as they looked at him. “Yeah. And I’ll break through anything else you try, too.”

Geralt sighed. “Your medallion’s quiet. I was _more_ than willing to suck my boyfriend’s dick last night. The thrall was my idea. Are we done here?”

Eskel huffed out a breath, a release of tension with—unless Jaskier was imagining it—the slightest hint of a chuckle. “Yeah. We are.”

“Fantastic,” Jaskier said, as Eskel pushed himself up and offered his hand to pull Geralt up after him. “Well then, Geralt’s brother, I am the famous bard Jaskier! And a fae, but I would appreciate it if you could keep that part on the quiet side. You know how it goes.”

Eskel nodded at him. It didn’t even look begrudging. “Eskel. School of the Wolf.”

“Yes, Geralt’s mentioned you. Not at length, of course, because you know, it’s Geralt. But it’s…a pleasure. To make your acquaintance.”

Geralt snorted.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Come now, Geralt! I’m trying to be polite. After all, it’s not his fault that he had heard some appalling things about me—really, I’m quite happy he came so furiously to your defense.”

Eskel inclined his head, and Jaskier saw something that might have been approval in his eyes. Truly, it warmed the cockles of his inhuman heart.

“And I’ll be even happier,” Jaskier continued, “when we get back to the village and get back to _sleep_! This has been altogether too much adventure for one night, thank you very much.”

Geralt hummed affirmatively and stepped forward to tangle his fingers through Jaskier’s.

“Shall we?” Geralt asked, head inclined toward his brother.

But Eskel was grimacing. “Yeah. About that.”

There was a pause. Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes.

“ _Yes_?” Jaskier asked, impatient.

“Well. The villagers sent a runner to hire me because they were all in a panic about how a monster had enthralled a witcher. Particularly one of Geralt’s…reputation.”

Jaskier could feel Geralt tense at his side. His fingers got just a _bit_ too tightly clenched.

“What do you mean, _all_?” Geralt asked, voice careful in a way that only someone who knew him well would be able to detect.

Eskel’s grimace deepened, but his look was commiserating. “Let’s just say that they woke up half the town over this.”

Jaskier squinted, head cocking. “How exactly did Geralt not hear any of that?”

“They were surprisingly smart about it,” Eskel said with a shrug. “Kept everything out to the edge of town. Found a couple who could come crying to you about the griffin for me without complaint. They’re all waiting for me to get back and give them the news. Or, you know, not. I suppose.”

“…Fuck.”

Indeed, Geralt’s curses were as accurate as ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started the morning of my birthday off by finishing this chapter! Love that momentum, and the vibe of early morning writing is so nice. Leave me a comment as a present?
> 
> And yes, the chapter count has gone up. But next chapter is just gonna be some banter and the "more porn" I promised you lol. Thanks to HeavensCrack for the beta!

“Alright,” Jaskier said, giving into the urge to bring his palm up and pinch the tension out of his nose. “So half the town collaborated in setting up an elaborate trap for us, and is now waiting for you to come back with my corpse. That’s just great. Fantastic, really. Well. I suppose you can claim you’ve vanquished me and Geralt can retrieve our stuff and meet up with me down the road—”

“Won’t work,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier turned to stare at his boyfriend. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?” he asked, squeezing Geralt’s hand for emphasis.

“You’re right about the corpse,” Geralt said, voice tight. “They know you can enthrall witchers. They’ll demand a trophy. Proof of kill.”

“Yeah,” Eskel said. His grimace was made significantly more menacing by the way his scars twisted his lips, although Jaskier was pretty sure the expression only contained moderate irritation. Probably. “That.”

Jaskier huffed. “How rude of them. They can’t just take your word for it?”

“You know they won’t,” Geralt said. And damnit, he was right. Jaskier knew full well what people thought of a witcher’s word.

“And they’re right not to, with something like this,” Eskel added. _Also_ rude.

“Well what are we supposed to do then?” Jaskier asked, voice raising in both volume and pitch. “Disappear into the woods and never return? Hide our identities forever to stop the rumors from spreading? Fake my death and drag my bloody corpse back to the village for them to gawk at and mount on a wall?”

Eskel shrugged. “That last one, basically.”

“Minus the mounting,” Geralt said, voice dark.

“Damn well _right_ it’ll be minus the mounting,” Jaskier said, eyes narrowed.

Eskel chuckled. A chuckle! Out of a witcher he’d known less than a day! Truly, the gods _did_ make miracles.

“Anyway. He good enough at illusions for that, Wolf?”

“ _He_ is right here!” Jaskier said with exaggerated affront.

“Hmm. You saw him earlier.”

“Yeah, but I saw right through them. Hard to tell how these things work on humans, and all.”

“Excuse me, you did _not_ —”

Geralt and Eskel finally turned to look at him.

“You were tracking me by sound, you liar! Otherwise you would’ve kept on stabbing!”

For a moment there was silence.

Then Eskel snorted. “Suppose you’ve got me there.”

“Damn _right_ , I do.” Jaskier nodded triumphantly. “So! What am I illusioning?”

“Oh,” Eskel drawled, amusement in his voice. “Nothing much.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother in the gut.

And Jaskier was _not_ sure how that boded.

\--

Eskel huffed, again, as the two witchers and the fae bard trudged back through the barley field. “But _why_ is it sticky?”

Jaskier knew his giant grin couldn’t be seen through his glamoured invisibility, so he snorted out loud.

Didn’t say anything, though.

Geralt, however, did. With a much softer snort. “It’s because you stabbed him.”

“Yeah, because I thought he was—” Eskel, clearly thinking better of finishing _that_ particularly statement, cut himself off with a grumble. “And anyway, it wasn’t technically a stab.”

“What do you _mean_ it wasn’t technically a stab! I am _bleeding_!” he cried, poking sharply into Eskel’s gambeson. “There is _blood_ on my _doublet_!”

Eskel swatted his hand away without even being able to see it. _The fucker_.

“Geralt, you _saw_ him stab me!”

But Geralt’s mouth was pulled into a small smirk. “You were invisible, so technically I didn’t see anything.”

Jaskier knew full well Geralt wouldn’t be so flippant if the cut had been more than a scratch—not that he’d ever _admit_ that—but still! The _indignity_!”

“You saw his sword, then you saw my blood! One plus one equals _stab_ , Geralt, don’t you _dare_ start conspiring with this asshole.”

“Still wasn’t a stab,” Eskel said.

“Geralt!”

“Nope,” Geralt said. “Not a stab.”

But his fingers still managed to find Jaskier’s, despite the invisibility, and grasp them tight.

It was sweet.

Jaskier would just have to jerk his lover’s hand around via flamboyant gestures. No other recourse. It was the only option.

For justice.

“ _Fine_ ,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt’s hand along with his wide-blown shrug. “How, exactly, was that ‘technically’ not a stabbing?”

“Because you made this thing _sticky_ ,” Eskel grimaced. “And _wet._ ”

Geralt chuckled. “It was a slash.”

Jaskier glared. Not that they could see it. “That’s still a fucking stab!”

And then he made the object in Eskel’s hands feel both stickier and wetter. For _justice_.

\--

The village square, when they reached it, was filled with people. Maybe thirty—a large number, for such a small village. Half the town, maybe, like Eskel had said. They were dimly lit by the lanterns and oil lamps strewn about, but to Geralt’s eyes, they were almost perfectly clear.

And so were the pitchforks, scythes, and other assorted farm implements that many of the villagers are holding. There were even a few swords among them, though none looked particularly sharp or well-maintained.

“Hail,” Eskel called, as the three of them stopped at the edge of the square. The various weapons had gone from idly held to threateningly posed. Not that they _could_ pose a threat, either to two witchers or to a fae who had already turned himself invisible. But no need to put them on guard.

After all, it was his and Jaskier’s miscalculation that had caused the mess. The villagers had only reacted reasonably. They didn’t deserve to pay for that.

“Hail, witcher,” the alderman called back. “And to the other witcher, as well.”

The weight on the second hail was significant.

“I am happy to report all is well,” Eskel called, still not foolish enough to try to step forward. “The beast has been vanquished, and my companion has been freed from its thrall. I thank you for alerting me to the situation, and for enabling me to save my fellow witcher.”

Some of the villagers relaxed at that.

Some didn’t.

“So you say—” the alderman started.

“How do we know that he’s not faking?” a man demanded. One toward the front of the crowd. Blonde hair, aggressive posture—even shaking one of the few swords the village had in their direction. “They could both be under the beast’s evil thrall!”

Geralt forced himself not to react as several villagers nodded or shouted their agreement.

“An understandable concern—and a wise one!” Eskel said. “But you need not fear, for we bring you proof. We bring you the beast’s head!”

Eskel lifted his arm, and Jaskier’s severed head swung up in his grip. Its hair, dark and bloody, followed; its eyes, cold and dead, stayed fixed open; its jaw, limp and gaping, jerked up and its sharp teeth clacked together; its blood spattered out, painting Eskel’s arm and armor an even deeper red.

Geralt didn’t want to look. He couldn’t look away.

He’d seen enough of the damn thing when Jaskier had been making it—and _soliciting constructive criticism_ , as if any of these backwater villagers would know how a monster head should bleed.

It was a good thing Eskel was doing the talking—Geralt wasn’t sure what he would’ve said.

Especially not in the face of the relieved sighs and intrigued sounds that met the sight of his lover’s severed head.

It shouldn’t matter—villagers were always ignorant. Eskel was holding nothing more than his potion bag. The head was an illusion, the blood was an illusion, the gaping wound that was all that remained of Jaskier’s neck was an illusion.

It didn’t matter. Couldn’t. Not when he was on a job.

“You know,” came a whisper, “it’s really quite gauche of them to be this interested in the proof of my untimely demise.”

Jaskier’s voice was a balm even as the pressure in Geralt’s chest was made tighter by the blonde man’s gaze—he looked like he wanted to grip Jaskier’s head in his large, dirty hands and swallow it whole.

Geralt couldn’t stab the man. Couldn’t reach back and grasp Jaskier’s hand. A witcher interacting with thin air would only feed the fires of the villagers’ fear.

Something had happened, while Geralt was staring at the head. Eskel was approaching the alderman, and the alderman was approaching them.

At some point, Eskel had flashed the sign for Geralt to stay put.

Hmm. Which meant Eskel had noticed his inattention. Not promising.

“You know,” Jaskier said, so softly there was no risk of even the alderman and his two…guards, they were probably supposed to be...hearing him. “I’m quite generous. The soul of magnanimity, really.”

The urge to snort felt far away.

“So I promise to let you say _I told you so_ ten whole times without complaint!”

And then Geralt was back in his body as he huffed and soft, quiet laugh.

“Just imagine how nice it’ll be,” Jaskier continued, rambling as comforting as a warm fire, “you love saying I told you so almost as much as I do. And I’ll let you pick where we have sex for the next two months, because”—Jaskier cleared his throat—“well, it would seem like that’s a good idea anyway, and certainly we could’ve avoided some trouble if we’d gone with your idea and kept prancing through the stupid woods.”

Possibly, possibly not. Young humans could be stupidly determined—and all the more so if they were male and drunk.

It was a small mercy that the night’s bout of stupid determination had cost nothing more than a good deal of stress and a scratch across Jaskier’s chest.

Well. It had also cost Jaskier’s doublet and chemise, he supposed, which was a shame—that particular set was a light blue that set off Jaskier’s eyes nicely.

But the doublet wasn’t important. What was important was Eskel motioning him forward.

Jaskier, at least, was wise enough to stop whispering as the two of them approached the alderman and his two pseudo-guards.

“As I was saying,” Eskel said, “Geralt had only been at the mercy of that fae for a couple of days. It must have replaced the actual bard Jaskier to meet up with him after the winter. It’s thanks to you, truly, that we caught it so early.”

“Indeed,” Geralt made himself say, nodding in what he knew was a mockery of appreciation. “Thank you for catching him in the act, and alerting my brother to the danger.”

One of the guards—the blonde man again—narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you mean _it_?”

Geralt constrained his reaction to a raised eyebrow. “Same difference with a monster.”

He could feel Jaskier’s hand, bracing and warm, against the small of his back. It almost felt like absolution for what he’d just said.

“Then I’m glad for all our sakes that your free, witcher,” the alderman said. His tone was flat, but not hostile. That, at least, was something.

“As am I.”

“ _What was it like to be forced to suck the monster’s cock?_ ”

Geralt’s head whipped toward the crowd, trying to figure out who had shouted—

Hmm. It was probably the man surrounded by a ring of terrified villagers, and one woman who had clapped a hand over his mouth and pinned him in place.

The scent of fear in the square abruptly spiked, and the villagers gripped their weapons tighter, the two with the alderman outright brandished them.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Eskel was saying. “You did us a favor, by my count.”

“Yes,” Geralt said, ignoring the way Eskel went tense at his words—not enough that anyone else would notice, but then, they had decided that Eskel would do all the necessary talking. “We don’t want to remind your people of what they were…regrettably forced to see. Pay my brother for his successful fulfillment of the contract, and we’ll be off.”

The other guard—the one Geralt had mentally categorized as _less_ hostile—spat. “You’re the one that went and got yourself enslaved to a monster in the first place. Why the fuck should we have to pay for your _liberation_.”

The man’s tone clearly suggested that no actual liberation had been achieved.

“Silence,” the alderman said, staring down his own guard. Then turning back to the witchers, his expression smoothed out just a bit. Well, there was a first time for everything, Geralt supposed. “We did hire the witcher Eskel. We offer payment in recognition of that contract—but docked, for the fact that another witcher was the one who needed saving.”

“The first one who needed saving,” Geralt said. “A beast like that, more would’ve followed.”

It was the least compensation the villagers could offer them, really.

“We accept your generous offer,” Eskel said, an edge in his tone that Geralt knew from long experience meant _Don’t get us into any more_ _trouble_.

And with that, the alderman nodded, and the pouch of coin exchanged hands. It was paltry, Geralt could tell at a glance, but better than nothing.

\--

Collecting his and Jaskier’s things, saddling up Roach and Scorpion, and leaving town was simple, though tense. The villagers watched their every move, from close enough that Jaskier had to stay quiet.

Staying in the town until dawn had, quite plainly, not been an option.

Only once they were a few leagues out of town, around several bends, and well into the forest, did Geralt grunt that Jaskier could drop his glamour.

The fae did so with a flourish—although Geralt’s medallion continued to buzz, presumably due to the unmarred appearance of Jaskier’s doublet.

Eskel snorted. “You know, it’s kind of comforting, knowing you’re using your incredible powers of illusion to fix your outfit.”

Jaskier sniffed. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t _ruined_ it.”

Eskel’s amber gaze was decidedly patronizing.

Jaskier and Eskel continued to banter as they kept walking in search of a place far enough from the town—and far enough from the road—to camp. For the most part, Geralt let them.

\--

By the time they’d set up a communal camp and settled in, dawn was only a few hours off—just as well, as Geralt and Eskel hadn’t wanted to risk making a fire, despite Jaskier’s objections.

But after some light whining, the bard had settled in on his bedroll. He wasn’t made to stand the lack of sleep the way witchers were, and so he lay curled around Geralt’s back as Geralt sat opposite Eskel.

He saw his brother far too rarely to squander their time together. And besides, much as Geralt hated the notion…there were things they needed to talk about.

Things he didn’t know how to _start_ talking about, as he sat there stroking through Jaskier’s hair, and Eskel gazed up at the stars.

“How’d you do it, anyway?” he managed, after a time.

Eskel tore his gaze away from the night sky and the treetops framing it. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Took some griffin feathers to sell after my hunt. Tied them and the boy’s shirt to a stick.”

Geralt’s eyebrows raised. “Some stick.”

Eskel’s smirk was familiar, even shrouded in the dark. Maybe especially shrouded in the dark. “Well. Might’ve been a small tree.”

Geralt chuckled softly. Yeah, that would’ve explained the height of the griffin’s scent, alright. “Poor tree.”

Shrugging, Eskel added, “Yeah, guess so.” But then he let the humor fall away. “A whole forest would’ve been worth it, you know. If he’d been doing what I thought he was.”

Geralt probably owed Eskel for bringing it up for him, but he didn’t quite feel like it.

“Yeah,” he said instead, eyes turning to the ground between them.

With a sigh, Eskel continued: “You know you could’ve told us, right?”

Geralt hummed. “Didn’t know until this year.”

Geralt didn’t need to look at his brother’s face to know that he had blinked. “Oh man,” he said after a moment. “Vesemir’s gonna kill you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really. Traveling with a fae for twelve whole years and you didn’t fucking notice he wasn’t human?”

“I knew he wasn’t human,” Geralt said. “Didn’t ask for specifics.”

Eskel’s snort was low, in deference to Jaskier’s sleep. His brother was polite like that. “Didn’t look for them either, clearly.”

…Polite to people who _weren’t_ his brothers.

And all the more annoying because he wasn’t actually wrong.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, shut up, Wolf. You know, if you’d looked into it and _told us_ , this all could’ve been avoided.”

“Didn’t…” Geralt cleared his throat as softly as he could. “This, between us. It’s still new.”

“…You’re kidding.” Eskel’s glare was clear in his tone.

“No,” Geralt said, then huffed. “Been ‘bout a year. It’s…” It was rare that he envied the amount that Jaskier could speak, but this was definitely one of those times. “It’s good.” He _needed_ Eskel to understand. “ _He’s_ good. And I know what you heard. And…I’m thankful for your care. For how quickly you came and how ready you were to come to my defense.”

He could hear Eskel letting out a long, slow breath. A decrease of tension, coming from him. A good sign.

“Of course, Geralt,” his brother finally said. “I hope you know that I would _always_ come for you.”

And at that, Geralt could bring himself to look up. To look his brother in his familiar amber eyes. “And I, you.”

“I know.” Eskel’s smile was a small, tender thing. Lopsided—he never smiled with the scarred side of his mouth, an avoidance of pain that had turned into self-conscious habit.

Geralt hadn’t seen his brother’s full, honest, wide smile in years—except when they were all truly deep in their cups. Deep enough that it was hard to remember that full smile.

He’d long since stopped waiting for it to return.

“I’m sorry for what you heard. And I am so, so sorry for what you thought. I would never want to”— _scare you like that_ , Geralt didn’t say—“bring you pain.”

Eskel sighed. “Pain is one way to put it.”

A flash of shame rushed through Geralt. “I’m sorry—”

“I know, Geralt. I know.” Another sigh. “You’re really happy? You _promise_ me?”

“I promise.”

Eskel’s smile returned, a bit wider, a bit less fragile.

Geralt was smiling back before he even noticed.

And that was that.

They’d known each other almost their whole lives—almost a century. What else was there to say?


End file.
